


A Christmas for Martin

by lebedeinetraume



Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-31
Updated: 2012-07-31
Packaged: 2017-11-11 02:50:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/473672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lebedeinetraume/pseuds/lebedeinetraume
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's Christmastime and though everyone is out enjoying the warmth of family, Martin has found himself hopelessly depressed, ignoring even the frantic messages from Arthur, wants to give Martin his first cheerful Christmas in ages.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part 1

**Author's Note:**

> "Cabin Pressure" belongs to John Finnemore and not to me, at all... I am merely borrowing characters for entertainment and am not making a single profit off of these. This story does involve suicidal thoughts but the theme is friendship and encouragement, so please bear that in mind when reading the story.

He just needed something to hold onto and for now, the plane was it.

Martin pressed down on the cockpit and rolled the small diecast model plane forward. He knew it was a Beechcraft Bonanza without even looking under the wing to see the inscription. The “v” tail had given him all the clues he needed to solve this mystery. It was a beautifully crafted toy, nearly all white except for its green stripes along the fuselage. The fact that Arthur had recalled this detail enough to hunt down this specific version should have lifted Martin’s spirits, but they did not.

To feel anything, even anger, would have been a blessing. Right now all Martin could feel was the dull thump of his heart. He curled an arm on the table and rested his chin upon it; and though he hardly understood why he did it, Martin continued to roll the Beechcraft around. He even let it take off and land a few times.

Beside him, his phone vibrated on the table, causing Martin to glance down at it. It was Arthur again with another text. It wasn’t unusual for Arthur to make calls and texts on Christmas Eve, but this wasn’t exactly a normal Christmas for Martin and as the last text had proved, the same could be said for Arthur.

Martin accessed the message and it read: “I want to cheer you up, Skipper. Please don’t shut me out too.”

How Martin rued the moment he made that foolish decision to reply to Arthur’s question regarding flying on Boxing Day with, “No. Possibly not ever.”

What could he have said though? “Sure thing, mate. Will be there at 0700 hours sharp!” Martin sighed and put his head back on his arm. It would have been lying to say such things and for some reason, it was better to simply ignore Arthur than lie to him. He didn’t want Arthur’s remembrance of him to be one of lies. It just didn’t seem right, or even fair.

Absently he pushed the little Beechcraft around again. He wished he could feel something, anything! The emptiness weighed on him like the cold weather outside. It had been snowing earlier, enough to cover the ground in a few centimetres worth, but then it had started raining, turning most of it to slush. Who knew what it was doing now? Martin sighed glumly. Who even cared what the weather was like?

“We’re closing in about twenty minutes,” said a voice that caused Martin to flick his gaze upwards towards the counter.

It was the café manager, Mr. Pearson. The man was never warm to Martin and on this Christmas Eve, his voice couldn’t have been less comforting. Martin asked softly, “Only twenty minutes?”

“Might be fifteen,” replied the man grumpily. “It is Christmas, you know.”

“So I’ve been made aware.”

Martin’s phone vibrated again and he looked down at the message.

“I’m over at your flat. The students are back and they’re sorry about the heater. They didn’t know it was broken and said that they’d get that fixed as soon as they can. Where are you?”

Martin sighed and let his gaze go to wherever it wanted. Nothing visually registered anyways, only his thoughts. The last several days he had spent freezing inside of his “attic flat” whilst the college students were away on holiday. They weren’t even supposed to be back for a few more days so what on earth prompted them back so soon, Martin just didn’t know, nor did he care. None of it mattered anyways. He was done with living in a musty old space.

Another vibration pulled Martin out of his mind and he looked down at it. Why was Arthur so insistent on texting him so much?

“The students told me you like the café. Are you still there?”

Again Martin ignored the text. Curling his finger, Martin gave the toy plane a great flick, sending it spinning around. Even if he had only twenty minutes, or fifteen… he would use them all. What for, Martin didn’t know. Everything was going to end soon anyways.

“There is a shelter you can go to,” said Mr. Pearson.

Martin straightened and replied weakly, “Of course.”

It was his cue to leave, no matter how much time he had. Sighing softly, Martin rose from the table, instinctively taking the plane with him. In his other hand was his mobile, and again it buzzed, alerting him to the fact that Arthur was still desperate to make contact. Arthur would be too late though.

Not even looking at Mr. Pearson, Martin headed quietly to the door and left. The reflection of the clock told him that in reality, he had a half hour until that café was supposed to close.

How bloody typical.

Exhaling softly, Martin stepped into the cold. If he had been of a right mind, he would have been taken aback by the bitter cold that greeted him. Glancing up at the sky, Martin saw a dim twinkle and knew that at the sky had cleared for a time. Everything would be icy now. Not that it mattered though; Martin couldn’t feel a thing.

As he sloshed through the slush on the streets, his shoes periodically crunching patches that were freezing, he let his sorrow fester within his soul. Not a single job for him in weeks. No hope of ever getting paid to fly for MJN Air; rejection letters from proper airlines, laughed out of their interviews… So much had happened in the last two weeks that Martin had little courage remaining. Even his dreams had fled him, leaving him as hollow as the room that he lived in.

Being Captain was the only thing he ever had, and right now, he didn’t even have that.

His phone buzzed again and Martin glanced down at it.

“Please Skip, wait for me.”

Martin closed his fingers tight around the plane and shut his eyes.

“Too late,” he whispered, before taking a blind step into the street.

When nothing came, Martin opened his eyes. Of all the busy streets in Fitton, he had to be on one that was void of traffic. How easy it would have been to just find the largest lorrie he could and step right in front of it and be done with the world! Life, it seemed, just did not want to go Martin Crieff’s way. Not even in death.

There was always another way. The bridge…

Walking hastily along, Martin slipped over some slush that had frozen and fell to his knees. Nothing hurt. No aches, no sharp, sudden pain caused by the fall. Absolutely nothing. The only thing Martin could feel was the dull thumping of his heart quicken at the sudden scare, but soon it calmed right down. Walking numbly along, hardly aware of the pain in his knee causing him to limp, Martin headed for the river.

It was higher now due to the torrential downpour that had fallen upon the hapless Fitton in recent times. He could almost hear it now. There wasn’t much further to go.

Another buzz from his phone caught Martin’s attention and as he reached for it, his foot hit and ice patch, sending him stumbling forward. Martin tried to catch himself on the hood of a car but his leg twisted underneath him, sending him down onto the ice. Immediately he picked himself up and tried to continue forward but his knee, weakened by the fall, sent him stumbling forward and right into a tree. Martin felt no pain as he collapsed onto his back on the ground.

As the sky above him swayed as though caught in a whirlpool, Martin could feel the slush soaking through his clothing. Maybe he could just lay here until he froze to death. That was one way to die. A bit slow and agonizing… but still, who would notice?

Slowly Martin allowed his eyes to shut. Things were steadier now and the area didn’t sway nearly as much. Martin sighed weakly. He hoped this was a sign of nearing death rather than healing. There was still the bridge at least. Martin flexed his fingers and realised that something was wrong. Where was his plane?

Martin groaned and turned his head a little to look for it. Not too far away lay his plane, inverted and bloody. This did not trouble Martin any as he picked it up and held it, not realising that it was his hand that had covered it with blood. Closing his fingers around it, Martin brought the plane to his chest. He gently stroked underneath the airfoil with his thumb and gazed up at the stars. Arthur had been so excited when Martin opened his present and for a time, so had he.

It was a gift that he did not need nor was it practical. It served no purpose other than to just exist. Right now though, it was the most precious thing Martin owned and he did not want to part with it.

Martin’s mobile began to vibrate and excitedly began playing a catchy tune, causing Martin to twitch. Lifting his other hand, which had somehow not relinquished his phone, Martin tapped the button to listen to the call without even pausing to think.

“Skipper, I’m so glad! I’ve been so worried!”

Arthur was always glad to see him but as Martin was certain, he had never sounded so relieved before. He swallowed hard and said nothing. He couldn’t say a word out of fear of breaking completely. There was no turning back from the course that Martin had charted. His destination was final.

“Skipper? What’s wrong? Please, talk to me!”

Tears built up in Martin’s eyes but he would not release them. Martin struggled to get up, and groaned weakly at the pain in his leg.

“Are you hurt? I’m just leaving the café now. Where are you, Skipper?”

Martin took in a gasping, wheezing breath. The tightness in his throat left him with little room to breathe. All the grief in his soul had crushed his heart, leaving him with nothing, yet something inside of him was still seeking life with such a fire that Martin momentarily was consumed by all the physical pain that he had just endured and let out an agonizing wail of despair.

Over the phone, Arthur’s voice panicked and he cried, “Skipper! Skipper! Don’t do anything foolish!”

Was Arthur’s voice shaking? Martin lowered his phone, his weeps marred by his chokes of pain. He could hear Arthur’s voice rising with worry.

“Skipper! Please, say something! Where are you?”

“B-bridge…” Martin sobbed, clutching the phone with both hands, sending his plane plunging onto the ice.

“I know the one! I’m coming to you, Skipper!” cried Arthur. “Whatever you do, please… don’t do anything! Just stay where you are!”

Martin turned towards the bridge and started limping towards it. The pain he had felt before was fleeing him, returning that numbing despair that had been consuming him for the last forty-eight hours. On the phone, Arthur ceaselessly talked to him, begging him to stay with him and to talk. Each step brought Martin closer to the centre of the bridge and behind him he heard the sound of a vehicle fast approaching. Something in him propelled him to move faster as though he was a rabbit being pursued by a hound.

“Skipper! It’s me!” cried Arthur over the phone. “Please stop! Don’t keep walking away, Skipper!”

Martin slipped on a patch of ice and collapsed against the stone railing. He felt his head burn from where the stone had scraped his flesh and he cried out weakly.

“Skipper! I’m coming!”

Martin growled as he pulled himself upright. Throwing his leg over it, Martin hoisted himself up, then rose shakily to his feet. His world had begun spinning again and he wobbled on that thin ledge. His mobile clattered on the sidewalk and Martin turned his gaze to the river down below. All he needed was one more step… and it would all be over with.

“Martin!”

The cry halted Martin’s breath and he turned his head slowly to see Arthur dashing towards him. Martin swallowed hard and remained still, despite his mind’s cry to ignore Arthur and just do it. He watched as Arthur neared him but said nothing to him. His face was frozen with his grief and he could not utter a single word that was in his heart. Then, as Martin’s shadow was cast over the snow, Martin remembered something and put his hand up.

“Stop!” he cried. “There’s ice there!”

Arthur’s hands shot out from his side, which he flapped madly about to keep himself from falling over. The earflaps of his winter cap remained perfectly still but the outrageously yellow scarf around his neck flapped about like an injured duck on ice. Martin stared at him; worry lightly creased his brow.

“Thanks, Skip!” exclaimed Arthur as he carefully worked his way around the patch. “That would have really hurt had I gone down! You really saved me there!”

Martin looked back down at the river and clenched his fists.

“Skipper, you’re bleeding pretty bad,” said Arthur as he carefully neared the railing, trying to get as close as he could to Martin without accidentally causing him to go over. “What happened?”

“I got into a row with some ice and a tree,” replied Martin wryly.

“Oh well… I bet they look even worse!” Arthur chuckled, but Martin could tell that it was only half-hearted for like him, his voice was broken by the pain of this situation. “Please Skipper, come down from there. Let’s get you somewhere warm. That’s where we’re going in a few days, someplace really nice and warm!”

Martin shook his head. “Not for me, Arthur, not this time.”

“MJN Air won’t be the same if you go,” replied Arthur, stepping so close to Martin that his tears could now be plainly seen in the streetlamp. “You can’t go, not like this.”

“There is nothing left here,” replied Martin in a voice so calm and cold that he did not recognise himself. “I have tried and I have tried to make things work but they all have failed! Everyone expects me to fail and well, have I disappointed anyone?”

“You’re not a failure, Skip. You’re the Captain, our Skipper!”

Martin sniffed and shook his head. “I am a Captain of an air-dot. I don’t even get paid… I am not real. I am just pretending to be something I never was capable of being.”

“That’s not true, Skip. You must know it’s not true!”

“It is. It really is.” Martin closed his eyes and swayed softly. Perhaps the wind would take him right over.

“Skipper!” cried Arthur, his voice cracking with grief. He thrust something out at Martin and said, “If you’re going to go, at least go as a proper pilot. You can’t meet St. Peter and the otters without your plane!”

Martin was taken aback as he looked at the plane. Somehow Arthur had found the little Beechcraft Bonanza in the snow. It was still covered with blood. Numbly Martin took the plane and once more faced the water.

“You are my best friend,” said Arthur. “Please don’t do this, Skipper.”

Martin shut his eyes and gripped the plane tightly. “Arthur, please…”

“No, I won’t shut up!” Arthur shouted. “I know you’re sad and I know that something has really really hurt you! I’ve known for a few weeks but I just didn’t know how to help you! I thought I could cheer you up or maybe act really silly and then you might feel better if someone was having it worse than you!”

“Arthur, I…”

“Call me selfish but I don’t want you to go, Skipper!” cried Arthur, his voice managing to override the sobs that sent his tears sliding down his cheeks. “You’re my best friend! You’re my inspiration! At least you’ve been able to make something of yourself! You’ve followed your dream and though you’re not getting paid for it at least you’re flying!”

Martin gazed sadly at him and replied weakly, “I am a failure to you too then.”

“No, not at all!” Arthur tried to get even closer to Martin as he said, “You’ve kept me going! Before you came to MJN I thought that I was the only one who was imperfect. I thought that there was no one out there who made mistakes. Everyone is always pointing out what I do wrong! When you arrived, everyone called you out on your mistakes but I, I still think you’re brilliant.”

“I wish I could have been a better example.” Martin looked down at the water and leaned forward a bit. His head started to swim and he swayed once more.

Seeing this, Arthur reached his hand up towards Martin and sobbed. For a few painful moments he couldn’t say a word, and Martin ignored him, staring forlornly at the future that awaited him.

“I can’t promise that everything is going to be grand, Skipper,” said Arthur suddenly, lifting his head and raising his hand higher towards Martin. “I can’t guarantee that things are automatically going to get better, but I can promise you that I will always be your friend. Martin, please… don’t do this. I’ve always imagined you moving on to another airliner and being absolutely brilliant in your aviators and so smart in your cap walking with the other pilots… but I never want to imagine life without you because you are with the otters.”

Martin felt Arthur’s fingers brush his but he did not respond to it. He simply gazed at the water below, feeling his soul sinking deeper into it.

“Don’t make it a reality, Martin, please. Stay. We’ll make this better! We’ll find a way! I promise I won’t ever leave you. You’re my best friend; the only one I’ve got! I won’t ever give up on you. Just please, let me help! Skipper… Martin… please!”


	2. Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Christmastime and though everyone is out enjoying the warmth of family, Martin has found himself hopelessly depressed, ignoring even the frantic messages from Arthur, who wants to give Martin his first cheerful Christmas in ages.

All he had to do was take one step. One move and it would all be over with. All his pain, all his failures and frustrations, they would no longer be remembered by him. Martin balled his fingers into a fist and stared transfixed at the river below.

“You’re my friend, Skip,” said Arthur, again trying to get a hold of Martin’s hand but only succeeding in brushing his fist. “The best there is. It’s Christmas, Skipper… a time for miracles and change. Things can get better, I know you can do it! I know that Douglas does care about you even if he doesn’t show it enough and so does mum. You know that she does care. We all care.”

Martin shut his eyes and let his fingers out slowly, allowing them to brush against Arthur’s. There was just a prick of warmth to them that clung to him. Martin drew in a shallow breath and leaned forward just a little. The cold wind blew against Martin’s face and he shivered lightly. What a strange thing for him to have felt.

“I love you, Skipper,” said Arthur in a voice so weak with anguish that Martin couldn’t ignore it anymore.

Reaching his hand back a little, Martin wrapped a finger around one of Arthur’s. He felt Arthur’s finger strengthen and knew that his friend had meant everything he had said. It was just a tiny hold that Arthur had on him, but it was one that sent Martin wave after wave of encouragement and compassion. That tiny part of Martin that had kept him from taking the fall clung to this and in this tiniest of gestures, Martin found the courage he needed to turn around completely and take hold of Arthur’s wrist.

“Arthur…” Martin cried shakily. He hardly knew himself anymore. For as much as he was gaining strength in his desire to live, the call of despair tried to pull him back towards the ledge. Something in Martin was stirring and he found himself panicking and clinging to Arthur with one hand as he teetered on the edge.

“Help me,” cried Martin. “I can’t hold on!”

“Give me your other hand!” Arthur shouted, reaching out to Martin.

At once Martin obeyed, knowing that at any moment his courage would fail him. He felt Arthur take his other hand, plane and all, and without any further complaint, Martin was pulled from the ledge and into Arthur’s awaiting arms. Then, and only then, did Martin truly weep.

Sobbing onto Arthur’s shoulder, Martin let out all his despair and sorrow. He clung to Arthur, his hands gripping both Arthur’s shoulders as though Martin was afraid that some unnatural force was going to change his mind for him and cast him over the bridge. Slowly Martin lessened his grip on Arthur, which despite the pain it caused, Arthur had taken it in gracious stride. Martin wrapped his arms around Arthur’s back and hugged him tight, still weeping.

“It’s all right, Skipper, I’ve got you,” said Arthur calmly as he rubbed Martin’s back. “You don’t have to let go if you don’t want to.”

For an answer, Martin put his forehead against Arthur’s shoulder and squeezed him tightly. This caused Arthur to laugh softly.

“Wow, Skipper, you may think you’re weak but you can sure hug like a polar bear!”

Martin chuckled and released Arthur. Pulling away, he regarded Arthur with great fondness and went to ruffle his hair. The moment he did so, the pain that he had been ignoring all this time finally caught up to him. From where he had hit the ice with his backside to where he had hit his head against the tree, it all came screaming back to him, immediately causing Martin to withdraw his hand and cry out in pain.

“Skipper!” exclaimed Arthur, startled to see him like this. He took off his coat and wrapped it around Martin just as he started shivering. “Come on, let’s get you inside my car! I’m taking you to the hospital!”

Martin nearly dropped the toy plane for the damage that it had done to his hand had finally been made known. Everything hurt now, and Martin wept, but not out of pain, but out of pure joy at being able to feel again. He was alive!

Once in the car and safely fastened, Arthur handed Martin a thermos.

“It’s hot apple cider, Skipper,” said Arthur with a proud smile on his face. “I figured that you could use something a bit Christmasy and warm. I hope you like it.”

Martin took an eager sip. The moment the warmth touched his parched lips Martin felt its healing power take hold of him. As he continued to drink he felt the cold dissolving into nothing. The station that Arthur had selected on the radio played all sorts of cheery Christmas music and for once, Martin found himself very happy to hear them. The haunting melody of “Panis Angelicus”, sung by Josh Groban, soothed Martin’s mind and put his soul at ease as Arthur drove towards the hospital.

Not once had Martin objected to any of this, though as they neared, the realisation of what he had nearly done seemed to hit him. Shivering, Martin withdrew into the coat and cried softly.

“It’s all right, Skipper,” said Arthur. “I can turn it to something else if you’d like.”

“Leave it, please.”

Arthur smiled at him and nodded cheerfully. “Sure thing, Skip.”

Once they arrived at the hospital, Martin was taken into a room where he waited for the doctor and as the minutes pressed on he became painfully aware of just how wet and cold his backside was. This was quickly remedied when Arthur sought out a nurse who fetched a pair of warm hospital blankets. As Arthur wrapped the blanket around Martin, he gently massaged his shoulders.

“Are you going to hold onto the plane the whole time?” he asked absently.

Martin looked down and saw that he had never relinquished the little Beechcraft aeroplane even when it was still causing him pain. He let his hand relax and delicately ran his thumb over the wing. “I can’t explain it, Arthur. I just couldn’t let go of it.”

“I’m sorry it hurt your hand,” replied Arthur glumly, noting the blood on Martin’s palm.

“Your gift means a lot to me,” said Martin. “I, I can’t really describe how; I just feel it.”

“Wow…” replied Arthur with a little smile. He asked, “Are you going to be all right now, Skip?”

Martin nodded slowly. “It’s hard to say, but for the moment, everything is all right with me.”

“Except your hand.”

“Yes, except that,” replied Martin with a little smile.

“And your head. That looks pretty bad.”

Martin chuckled and replied, “It only looks bad. Well, it does sting, a lot… actually, it does bloody hurt.”

“Told you so…”

Martin smirked and nudged Arthur playfully and when he was nudged back, he gave him a gentle elbow. This continued until the doctor arrived and began his examination. As the questions were asked, his head was tended to. Martin easily recounted slipping three times on the ice and how he had remained conscious through it all. The dizziness, Martin kept to himself and when asked, he simply lied. The fact of the matter was, Martin had been dizzy prior to hitting his head and though it had worsened the closer he came to jumping off the bridge, it had gone away on the trip to the hospital.

Anxiously Martin fiddled with the plane, worried that the doctor would see right through him and deduce just why he had been out on the streets anyways. Every now and then he would shoot Arthur a few worried looks, hoping that Arthur wouldn’t mention it. The last thing he wanted to do was spend the night at the hospital. Fortunately, Arthur kept quiet and only confirmed everything that Martin had said.

What a true friend Arthur was!

When it came time for his hand to be tended to, Martin was glad that Arthur had chosen to disappear for a few moments for all Martin did that time was complain, whimper, and whine. Though his head was still stinging from being treated, at least it was feeling better. Martin’s hand felt like it was on fire and he was quite vocal about his pain. The doctor was unimpressed by all of this and spoke to him in such a soothing tone that Martin couldn’t help but wonder if the man also worked with toddlers.

It would at least explain the candy cane he was given at the end of it.

Feeling slightly embarrassed, Martin hid the treat until Arthur returned where he presented it to him.

“A gift, for… helping me,” said Martin, still aware that the doctor was nearby.

“A candy cane, for me?” Arthur took it and held it as though it was the best present that he had ever been given. “Thanks, Skip! You know I haven’t actually been given one of these this year!”

“Really?” Martin smiled to himself.

“Yeah and I always prefer receiving them as gifts because it’s like there’s an elf out there working on Santa’s behalf to make sure that we’re all in the spirit! I can’t give one to myself because that’s just, well, that’s just plain silly!”

“Silly, indeed!” replied Martin with a quiet chuckle. He then sighed and laid down on the bed. “The doctor said that I have to stay here for an hour or so.”

“He just wants to make sure you’re going to be all right and that you haven’t suffered a concussion or anything.”

Martin frowned and gazed up at the ceiling. Hospitals made him so nervous and at the least, Martin was worried that the idleness of his thoughts would take him back to that bridge. Martin feared that and did not want to return to the darkness. A second blanket was placed over him and some Christmas music started playing softly.

“Martin, are you really going to be all right?”

Turning his head, Martin saw that Arthur had just set up a small CD player and was now taking a seat beside him. His eyes were full of worry and he looked as though he was about to cry again.

“Arthur, I’m fine,” replied Martin. “You saved me; thank you. Thank you.”

Arthur sniffed and wiped his eyes, then gently squeezed Martin’s shoulder. “Do you feel like a bit of Christmas cheer then? Help pass the time?”

Martin chuckled and replied, “Sure, why not?”

Sometime later, the doctor came back to the corner of the room where Martin and Arthur were loudly singing and exclaimed, “It might please you to know that you are free to go, Mr. Crieff!”

Arthur was the first to respond with a pout, “Aw, really?”

Martin frowned. “We were just getting into the third verse of ‘God Rest You Merry Gentlemen.’”

“Yes, I heard… the nurses heard… even the new mothers on the opposite wing of the hospital heard!” replied the doctor irritably. “You seem well enough but if you should start to feel nauseous or anything out of the ordinary, come straight back to the hospital.”

Martin nearly leapt out of the bed. For as much as he enjoyed Arthur getting the entire area singing along to “Frosty the Snowman”, “Rudolph the Red Nose Reindeer”, and every other well-known song, Martin was eager to leave. Leaving behind the comfort of the warm blankets, Martin took up his toy plane, which Arthur had lovingly cleaned for him, and followed Arthur to his car. Soon they were driving back towards Martin’s flat and as they neared, Martin felt a sense of sadness come back to him.

He really didn’t want Arthur to leave him so soon.

“Arthur,” said Martin, trying to sound as professional as he could in his state. “I know you have your Christmas traditions with your mum, but I was wondering well, I know it’s asking a bit, and it’s perfectly okay if you don’t want to, goodness knows my flat would be the last place anyone, including myself, would ever want to—”

“I’d love to stay, Skip.”

“…be…” Martin looked at him in surprise. The ease of Arthur’s response had shocked him. “But, it’s Christmas, Arthur. Your favourite time of the year. Don’t you want to be with your family?”

“I am with my family. Well, part of it… you are definitely part of my family.”

Martin clutched the plane and smiled gratefully at Arthur. How could he have missed the compassion that Arthur held for everyone? How could he not have seen just how much Arthur cared about everyone at MJN? Arthur was one-of-a-kind.

 

An hour later and finally in something dry, Martin prepared dinner in his small flat. Though it wasn’t exactly traditional, it certainly looked a lot better than the meal that he and Douglas had prepared for Arthur on their flight to Molokai last Christmas. As Martin was busy tending to the assortment of food, Arthur was setting up some battery operated candles around the room, taking great care to position them in accordance to the small tree that he had brought over from home and set up next to Martin’s computer.

Arthur had done so much for him already to try and keep his spirits up and at the moment, it was easy for Martin to forget that a few hours ago, he had been on the verge of death. Though his pain hadn’t left him entirely and would likely resurface, it wouldn’t be for a while. Martin had a friend with him who was more dear to him than any of his actual kin.

“Oh, darn…” complained Arthur suddenly, causing Martin to look up.

“What’s wrong?”

“I forgot the silly hats.”

“Not to worry,” replied Martin with a little smile. He picked up a package from the top of the microwave and tossed it over to him.

“Hurrah!” cried Arthur when he saw that it contained several of the silly hats.

“The students had extras and insisted on jamming it under my door one morning. How are they?”

“Brilliant!”

Martin snorted in laughter and watched as Arthur donned one.

“How do I look, Skipper?”

“To quote a wise old prophet… brilliant!”

“Really? Wow, Skip now that is really brilliant!”

And so they carried on like this, sharing stories and being silly. Though Martin was never a fan of the silly hats, he readily wore one without even the smallest of complaint. With the music up loud, the two adult boys partied and hung up more decorations as they sang to the songs, and as Arthur hung up a pair of stockings, their silliness reached a new high.

Arthur sang in a high-pitched voice, “Good King Wenceslas looked out, on the Feast of Stephen, When the snow lay round about, deep and crisp and even.” From at his computer, Martin sniggered and tried not to laugh as Arthur continued, “Brightly shone the moon that night, though the frost was cruel, When a poor man came in sight, gathering winter fuel.”

Donning the most deep voice he could, Martin sang, though struggling not to laugh through parts of it, “Sire, the night is darker now, and the wind blows stronger; Fails my heart, I know not how; I can go no longer.” Martin paused and laughed outright, then immediately continued singing, “Mark my footsteps, good my page. Tread now in them boldly!”

Arthur joined in singing with Martin, “You shall find the winter’s rage freeze thy blood less coldly.”

Then, as Arthur returned to singing by himself, Martin tried to work on his computer. Every high-pitched note brought Martin even closer to all-out-laughing and many times he had to wipe his eyes.

“In his master’s steps he trod, where the snow lay dinted; Heat was in the very sod which the saint had printed.”

From somewhere outside a howl arose. Martin buried his head in his arms, laughing as Arthur continued, deterred not by the hound.

“Therefore, Christian men, be sure, wealth or rank possessing.”

Barely able to lift his giggling voice, Martin joined in with Arthur to finish the song, singing, “You who now will bless the poor, shall yourselves find blessing!”

“Hey Skip, when did that dog start howling?” asked Arthur suddenly, to which Martin nearly fell off his chair, laughing.

When it was time for sleep, Martin allowed Arthur to sleep in the same bed, which was really just an old mattress on the floor covered with blankets. The floor really wasn’t as comfortable as Arthur had tried to say it was and more importantly, Martin had limited amount of blankets and with the flat dropping back into its normal cold state, Martin knew that they’d both need the blankets equally. Once Arthur was settled, he fell asleep surprisingly fast.

“Thank you,” said Martin quietly. “Thank you Arthur, for saving my life.”

 

Sometime in the night, as Martin was in a light sleep, he heard whimpering from beside him. Curious, he sat up and looked down at Arthur, the source of the racket. Though most of the sounds were tiny cries, Martin could hear a few distinct words, most of which consisted of his name and “why did you jump?.”

“I am so sorry,” Martin whispered, wishing that he could comfort Arthur somehow. He looked about his flat and tried to think of something that he could give him to reassure him.

The toy plane? No, he might hurt himself on it. A pillow? No… there weren’t any others. Martin looked back at his desk at a small stuffed bear and smiled. Perfect. Climbing out of bed, Martin picked up the old teddy and gently tucked it under Arthur’s arm. After a few moments, Arthur settled down and fell back asleep.

“I hope I haven’t ruined Christmas for you,” whispered Martin sadly. He stayed up for a bit longer, making sure that his friend was truly at peace before he allowed himself to back to sleep.

Martin needn’t worry though, for as the sun rose on this cloudless morning, Arthur’s joyous cries awoke him.

“It’s Christmas! It’s Christmas, Skipper!”

Martin heard a deep inhale and braced himself for what was to follow.

“Geeeet dressed your merry gentlemen, let nothing you dismay! For it is Christmas-Christmas-Christmas daaaaaaay!”

Martin laughed and took his pillow and smacked Arthur in the side with it. “Can’t a Captain get some good sleep around here?”

“Oh not today, Skipper!” exclaimed Arthur, pouncing on him. “It’s Christmas!”

“I’m sorry I haven’t got you anything beyond what I already gave you a few days ago,” said Martin with an apologetic frown.

“Doesn’t matter, Christmas isn’t about that stuff anyways! It’s about being with those you love and care about!”

“However, Arthur…” said Martin as he stretched. He glanced back at his computer and said, “I was working on it a bit last night, but I made you a profile on my flight simulator. Feel like giving it a go, learn how to be a cyber pilot?”

“Oh that’s brilliant, Skip! Would I ever!” Arthur hugged him tightly. “This is the best Christmas ever! Mum’s happy in being pleasantly disgusted with Herc, whose feelings are mutual! Douglas is happy being Douglas! And you Martin, you are still with us! The best gift of all!”

Martin smiled fondly at him and hugged him tightly. “Merry Christmas, Arthur.”

“Merry Christmas to you, Skipper!”


End file.
